The Narcissus Rose And The Thistle
by ChibiXII
Summary: Every story has two sides. Who you fall for depends on who's telling the story now, doesn't it?


**This is for anyone who typed in ScotlandXEngland XD**

**From what I can tell Iain Stewart is supposed to be Scotland's name. Whether it is or not I'm not to bothered but for now lets just go with it eh.**

**Good reviews are always appreciated ^^**

**Warnings: Well there's cursing, come on it is a ScotlandXEngalnd fic!**

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is not mine, tragic really.**

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**God tells me he can get me out of this mess, but he's pretty sure you're fucked.**

**-Braveheart**

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Ah the story of Scotland and England, there's not much to say really.

Well there is but it'd probably involve alot of cursing and stabbing.

We hate each other, plain and simple.

Our history consists of endless battles and bloodshed.

Every time we crossed paths we'd beat the shit out of each other, from swords to sticks.

It's never been any different.

You probably all idolise idea's of my youth, one with a caring older brother with hair like fire.

Well you'd be wrong, very wrong in fact.

Iain Stewart, better known as Scotland. My older rather undignified brother.

Land of the brave, or just plain crazy in my opinion.

Everyone has a side, a tale of woe, a story of courageous heroes and hateful villains.

The dirty little truth is no one is innocent, every country, every place has done unspeakable evil to others.

Every story has two sides.

Who you fall for depends on who's telling the story now, doesn't it?

- Arthur Kirkland

...

I'll say the usual line, they started it...no they really did. And by they I mean the little English prat sitting stiffly next to me.

Hard to believe it, he seems so harmless, some fucking misconception that is.

"What?"

"What? I said nothing."

"Stop staring at me, it's creepy. Last time I checked your _not_ France!"

England huffed, fixing his wild hair soothingly, suddenly the awareness of being watched bothered him to no end. That and the fact his watcher would probably try to stab, shoot or set fire to him if his guard were to lower.

"We live next to each other, our paths will always cross now and then."

Shooting the tall Scot with a dark mistrusting gaze England argued, "you didn't have to sit so close next to me though!"

As if to validate his point Arthur gestured to the sea of grass lands surrounding them. Exactly why the Scotsman chose a spot so close was beyond any English understanding.

"What happened to you? You _used_ to be so cute."

Looking the short Brit over Scotland smirked, "course that soon fucked off when you took up weaponry."

"Che, only cause you and those other two bastards forced me too. You three were nothing but bullies."

Taking a long calm drag on his cigarette Iain shrugged, "You never could take a joke brat."

"Explain too me what I was supposed to find amusing about being tied to a tree at dawn and left for eight fucking hours!"

"Aye, that was funny as fuck!"

Feeling the Scot was clearly on another page Arthur huffed, shaking his head he began to rise.

As a leather gloved hand caught his own England let himself fall back into a sitting position. His light coloured eyes fixed solely on intertwined hands.

"I came back for you when it got dark."

Giving the red head a sarcastic look Arthur bowed, "how _kind_ of you to remember."

A bitter look flashed across soft features as unwanted memories resurfaced.

"I suppose that's your idea of brotherly love. Including that time we _played_ pass the parcel."

"See I played with you."

"Yes _with _me, sept you guys used me as the fucking parcel!"

Snorting childishly Scotland nodded, his crimson bangs falling astray. "Well you were so small, ease to throw, easy to catch."

Leaning in Iain Stewart tussled the spiky blond locks he knew so well. "I made it up, you slept in my bed just about every night."

Finding the others cool gaze Arthur turned red once more, tugging his hand away as if burned.

"What, you want deny the closeness we shared?"

Seeing another abrupt change in facial expression Scotland chuckled, he always did delight in his younger brothers rather obvious emotions.

"_That_ was a long time ago."

"Aye, it was that."

Finding the long silence that followed unbearable Arthur turned his head to the side.

The Scot had been grinning at him stupidly for ages, "don't you have some bar to trawl?"

"Don't you have some bar to puke outside of?"

Inwardly Arthur wanted to scream, there was literally no winning.

"There's a reason the Roman Empire got to Scotland and said lets just board it up."

"Aye, they didn't dare come near us!"

"Figures you'd take that as a bloody compliment!"

Inhaling the smoke from his cigarette once more Iain hummed, his mature features giving little away. "We'd of killed em to their last fucking man."

Slapping a hand down on Arthur's shoulder he grinned, "and I'd cut off his head myself!"

Shoving the other off Britain growled, "you're completely vile!"

"What's wrong England? All's fair in love and war right?"

Scoffing loudly the Brit chided, "I fail to see the _love_."

Brushing his lips against his rivals ear Iain whispered, "it comes right before the death part Arthur."

...

Shivering involuntary I silently curse myself. I am not a child, he shouldn't have such an affect on me.

I hear him shift but by the time I turn he's already within my very personal space. His arms loosely hanging over my shoulders. Eyes of dark emerald looking straight through. Just like they always have.

"Don't touch me." It's a whisper, I had meant it to be a warning but it sounds weak.

Like I'm that same silly little boy all over again.

His body slips between mine, his weight causing me to tumble backwards. I can feel the cool, sharp grass dig into me from underneath.

"Our entire history consists of blood, death and sex."

His strong voice brings back endless memories, ones where he was my everything.

One's whether he used to smile so fondly at me, once upon a time.

As he pushes against me suggestively I feel myself flush, my eyes averting to anything and everything else. His hands begin to wonder...

"How dose the _real _story go? Pillaging, plundering, burning and raping?" His hands slip under my shirt, tearing skin.

Feeling his black leathered fingers wonder makes my vision blur. Pain and pleasure mixing into one.

I can vaguely make out colours. The red his hair, the green, his eyes. White almost ceramic skin. And blue, he would always wear blue.

"Or is our history not fairy tale enough for you?"

I bite my lip, I will not make any undignified noises, I'd rather die than give him the satisfaction. "L-Like your s-so innocent!"

His hand stops, "hmm, I guess were both monsters then." He lies on top of me, crossing his arms over my chest before readjusting his gaze down.

"I was so sure you'd deny it, we as ourselves might not have done all the deeds but we both embody our country, our people. And they certainly got up to alot of fucked up shit."

He lights another cigarette, offering me one as well. I simply shake my head declining, wondering why I don't do anything else.

"What do you want from me?"

Hate, Love, Sex, Money, Power, Death, Life?

I suddenly feel like a child all over again.

Asking questions I'm never going to get an answers to.

But still so desperately hoping for more.

His lips brush against my own, "I want everything and nothing at all." He smiles before pulling away, keeping his kiss.

Resiting to my side like nothing happened he stares up at the sky whimsically. The Scots aren't exactly logical or sane but still...

Joining him I sit up, staring out at nothing, just the endless sky so far above us. Each stray star sparkles dully in the hazy midnight sky.

The silence is pleasant, at least a change from the usual chaos between us.

It won't last, it never dose.

"How many wars have you been in now?" He smiles darkly, folding his hands as if contemplating something.

I know he disagrees with everything I do, sometimes I can't blame him.

But I won't answer.

"Your so famous now, I suppose a congratulations is in order. But judging by that sour look your giving me you're not in the mood."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Somehow this man...can always provoke the very worst in me.

"Oh Arthur, you don't really wanna hear my thoughts now do you? After all you have your inevitable weaknesses to worry about about."

He runs the back of his hand along my face, "your fame, ambitions and pride will be your undoing."

Leaning in he pulls me close, fingers digging into my skin unforgivingly.

It's going to bruise.

"And when you fall I'll be there...laughing at you."

Connecting our foreheads gently he caresses my skin with his long fingers, there's no warmth at all.

"Until then, I'll be waiting, like always."

I find myself smiling sourly, his words always cut me. So much deeper than he could possible imagine.

Only now do my senses return, my eyes feel heavy as I look around.

He's gone.

His touch still lingers, the cold chill through my body still present.

I've lost count of how many times I've found myself here. Standing alone under the stars with nothing else around me.

I like it here, this solitude gives me some vague form of peace.

But nothing can fill this loneliness in my heart.

Nor can anything in this world stop my desire.

I am England.


End file.
